PoetryMedicated by Roxana Valentino Illustrations by Carson Blumen-Green To some extent, I feel like a ghost of a past self. The echoing off the walls of my head emphasize a new-found loss of calamity. Awaken and quiet the cacophony. Forcing myself into a haze, swallowing a metallic taste. Slightly because I’ve lost myself inside the daze Enveloped in the fog, dragging. I linger around as time blows away with days. Where can I go? To breathe. And be. And de- compose myself. I float above old self. A bent spine. I never failed to claim it as mine. I see it from below. oh (wo)man, hello.